Brief Encounter
by element90
Summary: Elliot can be contemptuous at times. But then at other times...
1. Chapter 1

She seems trapped between something she wants and something she berates herself for wanting. Has he done this?

He wants to coax her into a security that permits him to examine her under harsh light. Where scars and secrets cannot hide.

It's sick. The image of holding her down with hands reserved for loyalty and protection. To obtain truth. A truth that he shouldn't even desire to learn.

He's always been a bit twisted. Like those he helped put away. A thin line separates. His lack of self-control is the proof.

He grabs her by the arm, just above her elbow, fingers easily encircling flesh and bone.

She jerks. But he doesn't release.

Her eyes remain focused on the floor. His on the curve of her neck.

"Why can't you just be honest with me?" he nearly growls.

He can feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"I am," she replies coldly, still watching the floor.

His fingers tighten. "Look at me and say that, then."

She tries to pull her arm away again.

His eyes, lit by fire, command her to look at him. But she doesn't. It provokes him to push her to the wall, nonviolently but forcefully.

She doesn't react angrily; only leans into the wall. He sadly shakes his head. He sees it as giving in, refusing to fight back. He sees it as weakness.

"Did you make it this easy for him?" he whispers, close to her ear.

She inhales sharply.

"Did you?" he repeats, same breathy voice.

Keeping her eyes on the floor, she shoves off the wall. The victory is small, mere inches.

"Screw you."

Her voice is quiet, but strong.

He smiles, thin and smugly satisfied. He's an ass.

"Elliot," she begins, physically and emotionally fatigued, "Why are you here?"

He can feel the energy drain from her. His fingers relax along with it. And his hand eventually falls away.

He sighs, rubs his face.

"I just want to know that you're alright."

Jesus, he's stupid. After a fight with his wife and too many beers, he knocks on an unfamiliar door, which he wouldn't even know where to find had he not followed her there two days ago.

Because he was too damn incompetent to pick up a phone. Simply greet her when she came out the precinct.

She actually looks at him. Eyes too dark, breath too shallow. "Why?"

That one word floors him. More so, it pisses him off. Seems so absurd. Does he have to state the fucking obvious?

But those eyes demand to know.

He doesn't realize there's no clarity for her as to why he would show up tonight, a random night, far removed from everything that has happened to her, far from the end of their partnership. Friendship.

"Because you're my…"

His face becomes marred by confusion and feelings of being completely inept.

Not the one thing. Not really the other either.

What, she's the woman he stalks now?

He takes a step back, eyes carefully take her in, as if looking at her fully now will provide the correct answer.

It doesn't.

But it does.

He can't actually say it to her. Not now. Not ever.

His eyes widen; he swallows with difficulty. His line of sight shifts to the door, not fully closed. The gap promises escape. He moves towards it in quick strides, ignoring her curious expression.

The gap is suddenly blocked by human form. He looks from the midsection to the face of the man he couldn't blame for wanting her years ago, for wanting her now.

"Stabler?"

His voice is laced with surprise. And something else. Elliot doesn't pause long enough to give it more thought. He gives the man a curt nod of acknowledgment, moves past him, brushing the doorframe.

And he's walking away, hears a distant, 'everything okay, Liv?' and 'fine' before he hears nothing else.

But a rush of blood and echo of footsteps.


	2. Chapter 2

He had laid his fingertips upon her scars, as if he could erase them.

And she had welcomed him to try.

He had embraced her like she was the only thing tethering him to the world, and she had returned it in kind. Touches between them had been rare. This seemed like the culmination of every touch that had long been poised just beneath the skin of hands.

Of lips.

It had been long and slow, innocently gentle. He had tasted of lemon-lime and salt, she of red wine. He had cradled her body against his, no barriers. He had lingered upon her until every line, every mark had been discovered.

They had never spoken, never looked into each other's eyes. They had fallen asleep back to back.

The morning's light is harsh as it cuts through the sheer curtains. She instantly longs for the night's soft shadows. She sits on the edge of the unmade bed, eyes downcast.

He stands near the window, watching her. The harsh light bothers him too, for he can see clearly the guilt and regret etched deeply into her face, feelings he should but does not share.

"Are you going to tell him?"

She will, of course, he knows. She's honest, doesn't set out to hurt. He hangs his head, immediately struck by the stupidity of his question.

"He won't forgive me," she says in a small voice.

"He might."

"No..." she corrects with a sad shake of her head. "Not with you."

He closes his eyes, remembering the way she moved beneath him. He can still hear her breath in his ear, feel it on his neck.

"We haven't been intimate…since…" She inhales shakily. "God, Elliot, what've I done?"

"This was not a mistake," he insists quietly.

"You're married."

"Only by definition."

The sex he has with his wife these days is just that. Trying to recall a time when it wasn't is difficult. Trying to recall a time when it felt anything remotely close to last night is impossible. Physically she was timid, he was unsatisfying. But he let himself finally fall. Through his grief and anger, past doubt and shame.

"Liv."

"I need to get to work."

She slips on her shoes, he reluctantly holds out her jacket. She takes it, avoiding his gaze.

Pausing at the door, she sighs under her breath, turns to him. "Under different circumstances, better, this…"

"I know." He approaches, closing the gap. "Just tell me I'll see you again."

Tonight, he wants to say. She can see it in his eyes, exactly what he wants. She wants it as well.

"When we're ready," he adds, unnecessarily.

She nods, understanding that's the only answer either of them could hope for. With nothing more to be said or done, she leaves him alone in the harshly lit hotel room.


End file.
